Page 5 of Better Love Next Time
Yesterday had been—to use his father’s favorite word—damnfunny. The damnedest, funniest day of Julian’s long ten years on this earth covered with boring humans.
Presently Julian’s father, the Earl of Tindall, braced his strained fingers on his desk like he was about to play Bach. Everyone should hate Bach, but they didn’t because some fellow years back had proclaimed him a genius, and so everyone after got in line like men eager to lift a leg on a rum-dell.
Anthony had translatedlifting a leg onas fornication with a pretty virgin. Soon, per Anthony, Julian would be standing in line with the rest of the men.
His father broke through in his quiet voice, which wasn’t quiet. “Are you listening to me?”
“Yes, my lord father.”
“What did I say?”
What had he said? Best to just apologize.
“I am deeply sorry.” The earl cocked a brow. “For ruining my brother and Miss Snif—” What was her name? “Hercelebration.”
He and Anthony had collected the insects, frogs, and toads over a fortnight. Keeping them alive was a feat for the fete. Julian grinned at the word play.
“Why are you smiling?”
Julian bowed his head. “I am mortified at my behavior.”
Mortified.That should work.
Because the collecting had been done largely at night, sleep had been minimal. And worth it. After Oliver had gushed over his betrothed, the crush of puffed-up humans had raised their champagne.
Anthony had released the plague of insects.
Julian had waited until the grumbles and swats and gasps had signaled that the prey had dispersed throughout the White Drawing Room. Then Julian had released five baskets of frogs and toads and shouted, “Dinner is served!”
The amphibians had leapt, sprung, hunted, and gulped their prey over mountains of silks and screams.
Nothing could best the sight. Anthony had boasted seeing twenty-two females’ bared knees and onequim. A duchess quim, Anthony had noted when a woman had flipped over the back of a settee, her skirts had fallen back, and her legs had stuck straight out like a dead bug.
What would Julian title this lecture?
Mixing Carnage and Cake Is Not Funny.
“You have tested my limits,” his father ground out. “You have shown yourself beyond reforming.”
“I am sor?—”
“No, you are not sorry. But you will be, boy. You will be damn sorry you ever indulged in such reckless, ignoble folly!”
Behind Julian, a woman cried.
The earl dashed a hand toward the door. “Out with you, Jane, if you cannot tame your tears. This must be done.”
Julian turned to see his mother, her tears falling in silence. Behind her, his sister, Caroline, smirked. Oliver stood beside her, a pale cast to his cheeks.
“Father,” Oliver began, stepping forward, “my brother has apologized?—”
“Eeee-nough!” His father flipped his index finger at Julian. “Your uncle has agreed to see to your reform.”
His mother sobbed. Julian straightened in his seat. Uncle William? He had been at the party. Julian couldn’t remember the man’s reaction, but his uncle made iron look like a feather pillow.
“Yes, indeed. Your uncle will see to it thatyou”—his father jabbed another finger at Julian in the event theyouhe spoke of wasn’t clear—“the monster created from my loins, beget by your sweet mother, whom she nurtured and loved andspoiled, will return to me a noble son fit to bear the name St. Clair.”
Bloody hell.If Julian said the words out loud, his father might cut off his head and senditto the countryside. He grit his teeth instead of begging for mercy.
